


i will worship at your feet

by PaxDuane



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Communication, Cunnilingus, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Horny Teenagers, M/M, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Possessive Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Water Sex, after they have sex the first time though, binder of open wounds 'verse, minor hair kink, not canon, they're nineteen, third sex, though it doesn't change a lot just context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29252583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxDuane/pseuds/PaxDuane
Summary: A-17 cannot stop himself from marveling at Jango Fett.
Relationships: Alpha-17/Jango Fett
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	i will worship at your feet

**Author's Note:**

> Non-canon for binder'verse, just needed to get it out of my system. It's just porn. _puts on sunglasses_

When Seventeen first lays eyes on his genetic template, he’s shocked.

Jango Fett is tiny, compared to him. The other is a few inches shorter, lithe, and moves like a hurricane eye wind. Gentle, smooth, but hinting at coming danger. Bits of armor show, but he’s swathed in flowy fabric that somehow all matches the tattoos on his face. Labooda had said, since they’re meeting on their way to Chalacta, that armor would be more hidden.

He’s not even anywhere near Fett, then. He’s across the room with a few others while Knight Labooda talks to Fett about something. Fett smiles and doesn’t look their way and it makes Seventeen kind of angry. The Jetiise had said Fett was claiming them, all in some way.

Fett smiles and laughs and flows out of the room and Seventeen can’t hate him, not really. But damn, does he want to. He hadn’t wanted to believe when the trainers said he was arrogant.

Then Fett flows through a room they’re in, later, weapon out again but not held as a weapon and he pauses behind the couch that CT-7632 is having a panic attack on. And he reaches out, not looking, and briefly touches ‘32’s shoulder and ’32 calms, blinks the anxiety out of his eyes and looks up, surprised.

Fett’s smile is relieved, but he still doesn’t look, just flows right on back out.

Maybe he isn’t as arrogant as Seventeen expected.

It isn’t until they’re on Chalacta, in the palace, that Seventeen interacts with Fett. He goes into the wrong room, or at least that’s what he’d say. Fett is draped again in shimmery fabric, some close to his body and some dripping to the floor. He stares ahead, at the wall, and presses buttons on a datapad, nodding along to the earpiece in his ear.

Then he sighs, frustrated, and it’s a little relieving that he can _get_ frustrated, and rips out the earpiece and flings it. He turns to Seventeen, nearly snarling, before pausing and his expression falters. “My apologies—I thought you were Rama.”

Rama, the king. Their...cousin. Somehow.

“A-17.”

Fett’s mouth makes a perfect O and, for a split second, Seventeen wants those lips around his cock. “One of the clones who came with us! I’m so sorry. I haven’t—there’s been so much to _do_.”

It’s Fett’s voice breaking on the last word that sends Seventeen striding into his space, to hold his neck and press their foreheads together like Fett’s a vod.

Fett cries with his eyes open, fingers clenching in Seventeen’s borrowed shirt as he breaks down.

The trainers lied when they said he was arrogant, Seventeen decides as he holds Fett tight.

It’s later, after Fett’s pulled himself back into perfect order for dinner, where Seventeen feels his hands empty so far down the table, that Labooda explains to the clones that Fett is blind.

He can’t see them and even an attempt to look at them would mostly fail, even with the Force.

Seventeen goes back to Fett’s room that night.

“Do you need help?” he asks as Fett lets silks drip to the floor layer after layer.

Fett doesn’t pause, just smiles slightly that Seventeen can see from the curve of his cheek and just the barest hint of those gorgeous lips. “Hello Seventeen... I might. Fox often helps me and I’m a little loose ended without his help.”

Fox?

Seventeen comes closer, slowly taking layer upon layer from his shoulders, unable to keep himself from running his hands down Fett’s arms.

“A lover?” he asks, because he can’t help himself. Not when there’s jealousy sparking hot in his stomach.

“ _Fox_? Oh, no. He’s more like a twin at this point...I needed that, since I’m so far different from the one I used to call that, now. He’s a bit younger than you—one of the eyayade that came with me when we left Kamino.”

Eyayade. Echo children? Does he mean the clones? He might have heard Davin refer to them as such once, but...But that was put a stop to.

Fox. One of the defective ones, he thinks. The ones who just didn’t match with the rest looks wise. Alpha wishes he’d been so lucky, viciously, as he tugs off the final drapey layer, leaving Fett in only his kameez and salwar.

“Are you alright?” Fett asks, gently, so gently.

The Force, right. Empaths.

Seventeen stills his thoughts, calms himself and sharpens that jealousy into determination. He’s nearly thrown by the soft bump of Fett’s belly, more protruded that is should be. It softens Fett further, even as his shoulders and body are more sharply defined without all of the layers.

“Oh, I suppose Sar might have warned you?” he asks, sounding flustered. “About the ik’aad.”

“Ik’aad—I. It’s a bit different. To see it.” Labooda didn’t tell them anything, but he can parse it out, can figure that Fett is pregnant. “You’re gorgeous.”

Fett makes a little sound; surprise, Seventeen thinks.

Reau had talked about it—ranted about it—once. How having babies is the pinnacle for any Mando, even men are jealous they can’t. But She kept having miscarriages—usually from Priest beating her, but...

“Can I touch you?” Seventeen asks softly. He’s hesitant, now. He doesn’t want to hurt Fett or hurt the baby.

“I...You wouldn’t consider me spoiled goods, then?” There’s a hint of teasing, there, but just little enough that Seventeen wants to kill someone. Multiple someones, probably.

“Who did it?” He tries his best to tame the growl in his voice.

Fett pauses, looking heartbreakingly surprised that Seventeen cares. “Tor Vizsla.”

The Vizsla who’d started training the Alphas, then switched with his son to take up some governorship in Mandalore sector. Seventeen never cared for him, for how he looks at them.

“I’d kill him for you, if you didn’t want to yourself,” Seventeen says. “You didn’t—that shouldn’t have happened.”

“No. It shouldn’t have. But it did, and now...”

Seventeen ducks their heads together again, just a breath away from his lips. “Can I touch you?” he asks again.

Fett—Jango whimpers and Seventeens afraid he’s karked up until he says, “Yes. Please.”

He strips Jango out of the kameez and salwar and his smalls, runs his hands all over him and walks him back to the nearly excessive bed in the room, tips him back onto the mattress and then starts kissing. He wants his mouth everywhere, but he pays special attention to the soft skin by the joints while he gently rubs his hand over Jango’s belly.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, head cushioned on a pillow as he starts to take Jango apart. He dips under his legs to kiss the insides of his knees, making him giggle, and up his smooth brown thighs to his cock and cloaca.

He pays attention to the cloaca, kissing it like he’s making out as Jango gasps and whines above him, fingers caught in his hair while Seventeen coaxes him open.

It’s nearly an hour of that when Jango pulls back, to Seventeen’s confusion. He scoots back on the bed and rifles through a side table, chest tinted slightly red and heaving, nipples pert and swollen despite him neglecting them.

Jango nearly brains him with a bottle and Seventeen looks up from checking that it’s lube to find the other getting comfortable with his legs spread wide.

It’s such a pretty picture, with his belly and firm chest and gorgeous legs that Seventeen wants—and is about to get—wrapped around his waist.

He gets to work, letting the lube more easily ease the way for him opening Jango up, big enough for his broad cock to slide in and in and in until he’s well seated and Jango’s head is thrown back in rapture.

He rocks them together, pulling small sounds from the man, who wraps his arms around Seventeen’s neck and legs around Seventeen’s wrist and clings to him.

Kar’ade, he bets Vizsla never got this. He expects Jango yowled a completely different way. Now, Jango is _his_.

“Mine,” he says, brain scrambling for Jango’s titles. “My Rai, my _Mand’alor_ , and I don’t care who put the baby there, couldn’t even care if it was Ka’ra Buir themself, because now it’s mine too. Elek, Mesh’la?’

Jango smirks. “Oh really?” he asks, tightening his thighs clamped against Seventeen’s sides, digging his nails into Seventeen’s neck and Seventeen knows he needs to tread very carefully. “And why is that.”

“Because I’m yours,” he babbles, rocking into him. “Yours, all yours. I’ll do whatever you want and be yours.”

The nails on his neck lighten and Jango moans, taking a moment to get control of his mind again and, when he does, he’s breathless. “And you’ll prove it to me?” he asks. “Every day?”

“Every day,” he swears.

Jango smiles so sweetly, Seventeen almost thinks he can see how desperate he is until he chastises himself and remembers the Force again. “Okay,” Jango says, kisses him sweet and slow, “I’ll let you prove it.”

“Vor entye,” he murmurs, bracing himself with one hand on the bed and bringing the other up to pump around Jango’s cock, slick with pre-come. “Vor entye, Jango.”

Jango gasps against his neck as he comes, coating his own belly and some of Seventeen’s as well. Seventeen feels him loosen his grip and races to finish while his legs are still around his waist, grunting as Jango whimpers at the feeling of spend spurting into him, then pulling out and pressing their foreheads together again.

He kisses Jango again, loving the taste that’s just _him_. “I’ll get a wet cloth,” he breathes.

Jango hums and motions to a door across the room, but curls up against him and makes no move to let him get up.

Seventeen huffs; well, if his ‘alor doesn’t want to get back up... He hoists him up in his arms, delighted by the squeak he makes and the look of surprise on his face.

The fresher attached to the room is large, finely decorated with a balcony view draped in layers of fine silk that turn the final light amber. There’s a tub—or more a pool, inlaid with flower patterns in cut gems that look...old. Excesses of another age, he supposes. And it’s filled.

“Do you usually bathe after dinner?” he asks with no little amusement.

Jango hums. “Not usually, but it was a very busy day.”

Seventeen settles him on the edge of the tub and finds a cloth, gently cleaning him of spend and lube, though he clenches his hands in Seventeen’s hair as he scrapes spend from his cloaca. Seventeen feels his cock twitch with interest, again, but he resolvedly cleans Jango and helps him slip into the water before scrubbing himself and watching and Jango relaxes further, keeping his long hair over the edge of the pool.

Seventeen reaches out and grabs a lock, leaning down to kiss it.

“You really meant it, didn’t you?” Jango asks.

Seventeen stares, uncomprehending at first. Then, he realizes. “Not just saying it because I was horny, no.” He pauses, wonders how much to say. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you, even if I wasn’t instantly _fond_.”

Jango reaches up and back, taking Seventeen’s hand and tangling their fingers together. “And now?”

Seventeen kisses his fingers. “I believe I’d follow you to the next galaxy, if you asked, Jango Fett.”

Jango makes a fantastic little noise and Seventeen kisses down his arm, to his shoulder and his neck and Jango giggles, catches him by the neck and kisses him.

He leans over the edge of the pool, to keep Jango’s lips.

Jango smiles into the kiss and pulls back. “You can get in.”

Seventeen stares, though Jango can’t see it. To get into this rich thing... Jango looks like he belongs, looks like he deserves _everything_. Seventeen is only a soldier. A good one, mind, but...

“Come in with me?” Jango asks, and Seventeen can’t deny him.

He climbs into the pool, settling next to Jango and enjoying the cool water in the muggy air. He kisses Jango’s neck, again, delighting in the shivers and sounds he gets, then whines as Jango takes his already-hardening-again cock in hand.

Jango straddles him, rubbing his own erect cock into the crease of his hip and thigh while he strokes him.

Seventeen could watch this forever, especially as Jango bites his own lip and gasps against him. He reaches around, fingers groping at the swell of his ass and grinding him closer.

Jango gasps against his jaw, long hair now floating on the surface of the water until Seventeen runs one hand up his back and gathers it up, doing his best to keep it aloft but not tug it as Jango ruts them together.

He comes first this time, crushing Jango’s hair to his head to pull him in for a barely touching, open mouthed kiss. Jango spills soon after, settling against him.

They about jump apart when a door opens.

“Fari,” Jango snaps, looking almost mortified.

An older woman steps in, gray eyebrow raised and hands in a cloth. Two pieces of gold glint between her brow and on the bridge of her nose. “Oh? What do we have here? The Rai I expected, but a Varayi?” she asks, tone teasing.

“ _Fari_ ,” Jango hisses. “You don’t need to help me.”

“Nonsense, Jannat, I’ve cared for you since you were a child, there’s nothing I haven’t seen. It’s simply been a while.” She turns sharp, black eyes on Seventeen, but there’s no judgement in them. Not that he’s a clone, anyways. She looks at him like a trainer, but there’s warmth and kindness there. Not the affection he could see when she looked at Jango, but... Nice, almost. “A fine enough young man, aren’t you? Bet you could lift him right up—.”

“You do not need to harass him,” Jango near-shrieks in outrage.

Fari holds up her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, your highness.” She reaches down and pats his cheeks. To Seventeen, she says, “I help the Rai with preparing for ceremonies. Tomorrow morning there is one, too early for bathing in the morning.”

“I can dress myself,” Jango grumbles.

Seventeen smiles at him.

“Mmhm,” she harrumphs, looking at the two of them and then to the door to the bedroom. Seventeen flushes, knowing that the outermost garments are on the floor where Jango dropped them, while the middle ones he rested on a chair, and the kameez and salwar...he has no idea where he flung those, now that he thinks about it.

Fari smiles. “Get up, the both of you. The Rai must be cleansed and I won’t live forever. So, that is what future husbands are for.”

“Fu—hus—what?” Seventeen asks, but he gets up as ordered and helps an annoyed Jango out of the bath.

Fari pats Jango’s face again. “I wouldn’t be doing this if there wasn’t a little one on the way.”

Jango sighs heavily. “Fine.”

Fari wrinkles her nose at Seventeen. “Name?”

“Um. A-17?” he offers.

She sniffs. “You will find a name, _soon_ , yes?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Seventeen agrees, staring.

She smiles, then walks him through the washing and drying and oiling and perfuming, eventually the two of them drawing laughter from Jango with their interactions, and the traditional bedclothes before she explains that maids will be coming in the morning to dress him.

In the end, Seventeen ends up back in the room he’s sharing with a few of the others, it’s late and he can’t get the grin off his face. The next morning, he ends up well dressed himself, he suspects at Fari’s orders, and standing beside her, unable to take his eyes off Jango as he performs an intricate ceremony that he can’t puzzle the words of, dressed in a river of blue silk.

There are whispers, before and after but not during, from those around him about his apparent pride of place next to Fari, but he pays them no mind. The only thoughts in his mind, locked behinds as much shielding as he can after last night, are on getting Jango out of that outfit.

**Author's Note:**

> what do I even say about this.
> 
> ik'aad -- Mando'a for baby  
> Mand'alor -- elected leader of the Mandalorian people, mainly in war, headcanoned as a religious position  
> Ka'ra Buir -- (OC) Mandalorian creation deity  
> elek -- Mando'a for yes  
> Mesh'la -- Mando'a for beautiful  
> Vor entye -- Mando'a for thank you, lit. I accept a debt
> 
> Rai -- Title for a member of the Chalactan royal family (Rama, mentioned, is Raja, which in this case is the king but these words can be functional synonyms in Indian history)  
> Fari -- from the name Fariha, "happy" in Arabic, used also by speakers of Urdu  
> Varayi -- from Sanskrit varayitr/varayitri, meaning a suitor/lover/wooer and meant the same


End file.
